


Oh, So You Can Carry The Ring To Mordor But You Can't Carry Your Best Friend-Slash-Obvious Love Interest Down The Road To The Corner Shop? How Very Convenient For You.

by DontOffendTheBees



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 12:28:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12108741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DontOffendTheBees/pseuds/DontOffendTheBees
Summary: “Todd,” he squeaks, possibly crushing Todd’s chest with the force of his grip. “Are you sure about this?”“Relax,” says Todd, and Dirk can’t see his face but he sounds entertained. “I won’t drop you.”In which Todd gives Dirk one (1) piggyback, and things sort of spiral from there.





	Oh, So You Can Carry The Ring To Mordor But You Can't Carry Your Best Friend-Slash-Obvious Love Interest Down The Road To The Corner Shop? How Very Convenient For You.

**Author's Note:**

> *crashes through door with an armful of candy and puppies* GUESS WHAT MOTHERFLIPPERS BEES IS BACK AND SHE’S GOT FLUFF
> 
> Anyway, liztalkstrash asked me to write Dirk getting a piggyback from Todd and angling for more of them, which is just one of the cutest prompts EVER and I'm super happy I got to write it- sorry it’s taken so long to get to it! Everyone who’s sent me prompts, they’re all in the works, I’m just finding writing a lil’ tricky at the moment. Hoping to get back into the swing of it a bit with Kurlish Week!
> 
> Anyway, this one kicked my ass a bit but I’m actually pretty chuffed (in the good sense) with how it turned out. Special shout out to lavellington for reading this over for me and being her lovely self. 
> 
> Enjoy! <3

Dirk likes to think that there’s several things he’s rather good at. He’s a good detective, despite many claims to the contrary by third parties who should learn to mind their own business. He’s good at making hot chocolate to the perfect degree of chocolately-ness (for himself- apparently his threshold for sweetness is higher than Todd’s, Farah’s or… pretty much anyone else’s). And eating, talking, breathing and walking are four things he’s managed- after many years of trial and error- to master.

 

But no matter how confident you are in your hard-earned walking skill, a healthy dose of searing pain can knock you right back to square one. Or step one, in this case. Whoever's responsible for the architecture of this art gallery is either a sadist or clinically depressed, and wants the world to know it. There's just something about it. Maybe it's the drab grey bricks, a perfect match to the drab grey aura. Perhaps it's more to do with the way it sags tiredly in on itself without surrendering an inch of its imposing height. Whatever it is, the whole set-up radiates gloom and hostility. And the stone steps Dirk now finds himself sprawled out on, much like the so-called 'comfy' chairs inside, are clearly not designed to have anything more than passing and cautiously professional contact with actual human bottoms.

 

“Oh, God, Todd, it’s _awful!”_ Dirk moans, rubbing his throbbing ankle. “Worst pain of my _life!”_

 

“You had _two_ crossbow bolts in your shoulder last year,” Todd reminds him, arms crossed and- like the building and its horrible stairs- staunchly unsympathetic.

 

“…True,” Dirk reluctantly concedes. He prods at the straining muscle again, and whimpers as another wave of pain rips through it. “ _Ah,_ no, no this is worse this is much worse oh _bloody hell-“_

 

“Dirk…”

 

“I think I might need to go to the hospital- oh _God,_ you don’t think they’ll amputate it, do you? They can’t do that! I love my ankles- they’re good, strong English ankles-!”

 

“God, Dirk, calm down- it’s obviously a sprain,” says Todd with a roll of his eyes, offering his hand. “Come on, let’s get you home and get some ice on it.”

 

It’s a lovely thought, but the fresh jolt of pain that drops Dirk right back onto his arse when he tries to stand has other ideas. “Ow…”

 

“Oh, for Chri- okay, come here.”

 

“Wha-? Todd, what are you-?”

 

Todd, confusingly, had turned his back on Dirk and is now squatting down, knees bent and shoulders hunched like he's attempting some sort of gargoyle impersonation. “Come on,” he mutters again, reaching back to take Dirk’s arms and guide them over his shoulders. “Just hold on, okay?”

 

“Actually, I do have a few more questions- _oh!”_

 

He _does_ have questions, but they all whoosh right out of him along with a surprised exhale as Todd reaches back again, this time to hook his hands round Dirk’ thighs. It’s startling enough to make him tighten his arms around Todd’s shoulders reflexively, even though he still isn’t a hundred percent sure what they’re doing there. It takes Todd straightening up with a grunt and scooping Dirk up off the evil steps to make the penny drop.

 

“Ah, Todd, this really isn't nece-“

 

Todd shushes him, shifting about until he has Dirk comfortably seated on his back. Which means linking his hands under his hips, forearms propping up Dirk’s bum and making him lose his grip (along with his train of thought) entirely.

 

“Dirk,” says Todd, sounding caught between amusement and annoyance- so, just Todd things. “This’d be a lot easier if you held on, too.”

 

“Oh- ah, sorry, Todd,” Dirk mumbles, locking his forearms across Todd’s chest. Which means pressing his own chest snugly up against his back. And balancing his chin atop Todd’s head because it seems like the only obvious place to put it. And squeezing his thighs around Todd’s waist to stabilise himself, thus wrapping his entire being tightly around the man's diminutive form and trusting it to take his entire weight.

 

It's absolutely bloody terrifying.

 

“Todd,” he squeaks, possibly crushing Todd’s chest with the force of his grip. “Are you sure about this?”

 

“Relax,” says Todd, and Dirk can’t see his face but he sounds entertained. “I won’t drop you.”

 

And then, before Dirk can protest further, he’s off and walking, leaving the uncomfortable safety of the gallery steps behind them.

 

Dirk holds his breath for about the first twenty yards, but Todd’s grip and pace don’t waver. So he eases himself back into a normal breathing pattern, relinquishing a bit of his boa constrictor grip on Todd’s shoulders. As the minutes go on it becomes gradually less terrifying. And then it turns from less-than-terrifying to actually rather pleasant.

 

They’re about halfway to the Ridgeley when he decides that yes, this is _more_ than pleasant. It’s rather lovely, actually.

 

So lovely, in fact, that he finds his eyes drifting shut of their own accord as he breathes in the smell of Todd’s shampoo from his hair. Finds himself squeezing Todd’s torso like a teddy bear. Feels Todd's warmth spread softly through him like the residual glow from simmering campfire embers, and finds himself melting like a gooey marshmallow against him. If it weren’t for Todd’s deceptively strong arms, holding him firmly but carefully aloft, he imagines he’d run right off his back like liquid.

 

“Dirk?”

 

“Hm?” Dirk mumbles, not lifting his chin from Todd’s lovely soft hair.

 

“You okay? You went pretty quiet.”

 

“Yes, I’m…” He smiles, nuzzling in closer, letting the gentle to and fro sway of Todd’s even stride slosh him around like warm milk. “I’m… just grand.”

 

Now _this…_ this is something he could get used to.

 

* * *

 

Unfortunately, he doesn’t have an awful lot of time to get used to it.

 

The walk is over in another ten minutes. Todd has them up the stairs in three. He bypasses Dirk’s flat entirely to shoulder open his own (still broken- he really ought to do something about that) door and deposit Dirk on his threadbare couch. And then he spends the rest of the evening calmly and practically tending Dirk’s poor old ankle, getting him settled in the flat’s one and only bed, and then retiring himself to the sofa with a neutral goodnight smile.

 

It. Is. _Infuriating._

 

Perhaps Dirk’s just being greedy, but twenty minutes of uninterrupted closeness followed by two hours of polite, clinical distance is just a _bit_ of a let-down. He wants more. He wants Todd, all warm and soft and sleepy, snuggled up against his front. Or his back. Or sprawled out on top of him. Or underneath him. Honestly, whatever Todd wants, Dirk’s game for just about anything as long as it involves some degree of physical contact. But apparently Todd can’t let his guard down for anything besides instances of injury!

 

Actually. That gives Dirk an idea...

 

* * *

 

It is, perhaps, not his finest idea to date. Nor his most ethical. Although frankly, soliciting piggybacks under false pretenses seems a rather minor offence in the grand scheme of things. And they’re not even _false_ pretenses, exactly. More like… artfully embellished pretenses. He isn’t lying! He has no intention of lying, he’s just going to… make the odd mountain of their numerous day-to-day molehills.

 

“Todd,” he whimpers pitifully, making his eyes as big as possible because that always seems to endear people to him for some reason. “My foot hurts.”

 

Again, it is _not_ a lie. His foot _does_ hurt. Or, well, a part of it does. His little toe, to be precise, on account of him stubbing it rather forcefully on a low brick wall.

 

Todd looks over at him from where he’s helping Farah pack her respectable armoury into a selection of cases. They hadn’t needed all those guns in the end, but she’d been _very_ insistent on them. “What’d you do?”

 

“Injured it running for my life.” Again, _not_ a lie! “I think it might be broken!” …Alright, slight lie.

 

Todd frowns, concerned. “Well, can you make it back to the van?”

 

“Well… I can certainly try.”

 

Perhaps he lays it on a bit thick when he makes a show of putting his foot down, then immediately pulling it back with a dramatic hiss of pain like he just planted it on a bed of rusty nails. He must do, because Todd goes in an instant from looking concerned to looking confused and a little suspicious.

 

Dirk tries to make his eyes go even wider to compensate for the error. “Nope.”

 

Todd opens his mouth to say something when another voice chimes in: “What’s the matter with Icarus?”

 

They all turn to look at Martin where he stalks up and down, handing off weapons to the other Rowdies like a laid-back hipster on a park bench tossing crumbs to inattentive and boisterous pigeons. “Says he’s hurt his foot,” says Farah, looking about as unconvinced as Todd does.

 

“I have!” Dirk insists, with another whimper for effect. “I may never walk again.”

 

“Well, you’re gonna have to,” says Todd, rolling his eyes. “Van’s parked half a mile away.”

 

“I’ll never make it!” Dirk laments, and he almost throws his arm across his face before deciding that might be just a touch too dramatic for the situation. “I suppose you’ll have to… go on without me.”

 

Todd hesitates. He’s cracking. Dirk fights to keep the triumphant smile off his face.

 

The feeling of victory lasts right up until another arm- a long, leather-clad, distinctly non-Todd arm- loops around his waist and hauls him off the ground.

 

“Hey, what-?”

 

“Relax, Icarus,” Martin drawls, slinging Dirk over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He scoops up a duffel bag (which Dirk knows for a fact contains at least two machine guns and a Travel Scrabble set) with his free hand and whistles. “C’mon, boys! Movin’ out!”

 

He starts walking to the whoops and cheers of the other Rowdies tagging along like heavily armed ducklings, ignoring Dirk’s protests and hurried declarations that he’s feeling better now, really, there’s no need for this and could he maybe put him down now please his shoulder’s really very uncomfortable. Todd and Farah walk behind at a leisurely pace, laughing amongst themselves. Just out of reach of Dirk as he bounces along with Martin’s loping pace.

 

_Bugger._

 

* * *

 

Alright, so his first attempt didn't go to plan. Getting lugged unceremoniously across a field on the hard leather shoulder of an anarchist vampire was _not_ on the to-do list. But he wouldn't be much of a detective if he gave up in the face of adversity.

 

But just to be safe, the next time he makes his move he _ensures_ that the Rowdies are nowhere to be seen.

 

"Dirk, are you okay?" asks Todd, leaning down to put a hand on Dirk's shoulder.

 

Dirk nods bravely, but seasons it with a pained whimper as he presses a hand to his throbbing head. Again, not lying- he _did_ fall and hit his head. Well. He lightly grazed his head. But he already had a bit of a headache, so he definitely isn't having fun. "Yes, yes I'm alright, just- _spinny_."

 

"Shit. How hard you hit your head?"

 

"Um... Hard...ish?"

 

"Great," Todd mutters, reaching up to plant his hands either side of Dirk's face. Dirk isn't sure whether his cheeks are warming from the touch or the head rush. The former, probably- he really isn't as dizzy as he's letting on. But at least it probably adds to the effect from where Todd's standing. "Better get you back to Farah, she can check you don't have- I don’t know, concussion or something. I knew we should've brought the car..."

 

"Suppose we'll just have to walk it," says Dirk lightly, avoiding eye contact. "That is, assuming I _can_ walk..."

 

Todd narrows his eyes.

 

Before Dirk can throw in a wobble or stumble to help make his case, another voice cuts in. "Hi, Dirk."

 

Dirk would know that gravely tone anywhere. He silently curses the heavens. "Hello, Bart."

 

Bart and Ken survey them both from a few meters away, munching on tortilla chips from the same bag. Bart's hair looks like it might have shared a brief encounter (or at the very least a moment of charged eye contact) with a comb sometime this month, and Ken doesn't seem to mind that her hands have blood on them. Date night must be going well. "Whatcha doing?" Bart inquires around a mouthful.

 

"Heading back to the agency," says Todd. "Dirk's hit his head."

 

"Oh. Hey, man, you okay?" Asks Ken, concerned- like a lovely decent person who doesn't need to see a bloody doctor's note to muster up a little concern for his friends.

 

"I'm fine!" Dirk hurriedly assures him, waving his hands because it occurs to him that Ken's nice enough a person to offer to help, and Dirk doesn't fancy a slightly more good-natured version of Martin's interference. "It's nothing!"

 

Todd's eyes are practically slits at this point. "You just said you might not be able to walk."

 

"Hey, that sounds serious," says Ken. "You guys need a hand?"

 

"No, no, I think we'll be just-"

 

"Actually," says Todd, lips twitching up in a smirk. "A hand would be great."

 

"That's really not-"

 

But Bart already has her arms round his waist (and he _really_ hopes that blood on her hands is dry- this is a new jacket!) and is lifting him with a grunt and not an awful lot of technique.

 

She just about manages to get his feet off the ground and his stomach uncomfortably propped on her shoulder before hitting a dead end. "...What now?" she says, awkwardly turning round to face Todd.

 

"Uh, we've gotta get him back to the agency," says Todd, looking about as blindsided by Bart's sudden intervention as Dirk is. "It's about nine blocks away."

 

Bart makes a sound like a frustrated cat into Dirk's chest before turning herself round again. She shuffles towards Ken, knees colliding with Dirk's helplessly dangling feet on every dragging step. "Here."

 

"No, Bart I'm holding-!"

 

But she ignores him, and the crisps are sent fluttering like delicious crunchy confetti to the winds as Ken drops them in favour of catching Dirk when Bart dumps him in his arms.

 

"'Kay," she grunts, picking up the discarded bag and rooting round for any crumbs that didn't make a break for freedom. "Let's go."

 

Dirk and Ken stare after her as she casually latches onto Todd, talking to him (or _at_ him) about something or other as they start walking. Todd casts a bemused smile back at Dirk as he falls into step with her.

 

Dirk tears his gaze away from Todd to look at Ken- who currently has him in some approximation of a bridal carry and looks distinctly confused about how he got there. Ken glances down at him and shrugs.

 

"Uh. Okay, let's go, I guess?"

 

Dirk pouts. On the one hand, this is certainly _not_ the pair of arms he wanted to be enclosed in.

 

On the other hand, free ride…

 

“Alright,” he mutters, wrapping his arms loosely round Ken’s neck.

 

Better than walking.

 

* * *

 

Frustratingly, a couple of weeks pass without injury. Funny, really. A while ago, if you’d told Dirk he’d find two weeks _without_ being bumped, scraped or maimed _frustrating,_ you would’ve received a very blank and uncomprehending stare in response.

 

But frustrating it was. Because along with a decrease in personal injury came a decrease in plausible excuses to solicit piggybacks from certain assistants, a further decrease in physical contact, and a marked _increase_ in Dirk's levels of irritability as a direct result.

 

It occurs to him though, when Amanda suggests they all go out for post-case drinks one night, that perhaps injury isn’t his only option.

 

“Dirk!” Todd laughs, swatting at Dirk’s hand as it sneaks towards his shot glass. “That’s mine!”

 

Dirk shakes his head, giggling as he makes another play for it. “ _I_ solved the case!”

 

“Yeah, by accident.”

 

“You don’ need any more,” Dirk slurs, alcohol making his tongue all heavy and awkward. He often finds this to be the case when he drinks- first thing to go is his ability to articulate a sentence. Which is a pity, because he always has _so_ many interesting things to say! “Gimme!”

 

“Neither do you!” Todd holds the shot glass well out of reach. Meanie.

 

“’M not _tha’_ drunk,” says Dirk, drunkenly. He lurches forward- Todd can’t hold it away from him for long, he’s only got little arms.

 

“Wow, Dirk,” Farah chuckles from somewhere in the vicinity of the pool table. “I thought you could hold your liquor better than this.”

 

He can, in all honesty. And he is. In fact, he’s only _just_ tipped beyond the line of tipsy and has no real intention of tipping further. But Todd doesn't need to know that. "Come ooooooon!" Dirk whines, in what he thinks is a very respectable impersonation of a drunken wail, leaning right into Todd's space as he paws at the glass. "'M thirsty!"

 

"Dirk..."

 

"And..." Dirk yawns loudly. It's a real yawn, to be fair- although perhaps he does stretch it a bit. "'N sleepy..."

 

And then, because it seems like something a person who's definitely too drunk to walk home would do (and not at all because it's something he just really wants to do, although that is a bonus), he let's his head loll onto Todd's shoulder, burying his face clumsily in the crook of his neck. "G' night..."

 

"Dirk? _Dirk._ Fucking hell."

 

Dirk, for all intents and purposes playing dead, tries not to grin too widely. Already the frustration in Todd's voice is giving way to resignation. Won't take him long to realize Dirk's down for the count (allegedly) and then... Well, he'll just have to get his drunk and unconscious best friend slash boss home in some fashion! And they'd certainly all had too many drinks to drive... Oops.

 

Amanda's voice drifts over. "Dude, is he asleep?"

 

"Yeah," Todd mumbles, prodding Dirk's shoulder. "Weird. Swear I've seen him drink more than that before."

 

Dirk is mentally weighing up the ethics of pretending to be drunk versus pretending to be injured (and deciding that perhaps he doesn’t have the context or the correctly aligned moral compass to make a judgement) when he hears Amanda and her heavy boots stomping up to the bar. “Wow,” she prods Dirk, too- what is it with Brotzmans and prodding? Those powerful musicians’ fingers pack a punch. “He’s really out cold, huh?”

 

“Yeah…” he can hear the suspicion colouring Todd’s tone. “That was… fast.”

 

Shit. Well, nothing to do but commit to the part, now. Dirk keeps his eyes stubbornly closed and tries to relax his breathing to a more sleepy-drunk rate.

 

“Great. Guess I’ve gotta get him home, now.”

 

_Bingo._

 

“Nah.”

 

Dirk frowns. What’s Amanda on about? He’s drunk and unconscious! Of course he needs to go home- she’s obstructing the natural course of things! Which he can’t say, because he’s unconscious. Shit. He considers discreetly nudging her with his foot and hoping she understands- but she’s had a few, as well, and a drunk Amanda is anything but subtle.

 

“Dude, he’s _obviously_ not asleep,” Amanda continues, giggling. “Look! Look, his eyebrows just went all wrinkly! He’s pissed!”

 

 _Shit!_ Dirk sets his jaw and smooths out his brow.

 

“Ha, look, now he’s tryna fix it so he doesn’t look pissed.”

 

Fuck.

 

“Dirk?” says Todd, with impatient fondness. “Are you awake?”

 

“…A bit.”

 

Todd snorts, and rudely shrugs Dirk off his shoulder. “Asshole.”

 

“Yeah, what gives, man?” asks Amanda, plopping herself down in his lap without as much as a by-your-leave. Drunk Amanda is _very_ cuddly. He wishes he could say the same of Todd. “C’mon, night’s just getting started! Quit playing dead!”

 

“I’m tired!” he whines, looping an arm round her waist because she’s dangerously close to falling off and Farah will have some choice words for him if he lets her girlfriend brain herself on the bar. “Been a long day! All the- the… the _stuff!”_

 

“What, the llamas?”

 

“Yes! Lots of, lots of running round after llamas. Tiring stuff.”

 

“Okay, soooooooo go home?”

 

Dirk pouts. “Can’t drive.”

 

“So walk.”

 

His distaste for the idea must show on his face, because Amanda bursts into guffaws. “ _Right,_ I getcha. Well, why didn’t’cha say so? C’mere!”

 

And then she's off his lap and dragging him to his feet, a hand on his waist like they're about to slow dance.

 

They do _not_ slow dance.

 

"Amanda!" Dirk exclaims in alarm as she sweeps her arm into the back of his legs, knocking him off them. "What-?!"

 

"S'okay, it's cool, I've got this!" she says, wheezing with effort and laughter combined. "I got this!"

 

"Lift with your knees," Farah chimes in from somewhere.

 

"Farah!" Dirk moans, glaring in the general direction of her voice. "Don't encourage her!"

 

"And watch your back," Todd adds, looking too amused by half.

 

"Todd!"

 

"I got it, I got- yes!" Amanda squeaks in delight as she successfully hefts Dirk into her arms. "Gotcha!"

 

"How are you doing this?!" Dirk cries, clinging to her narrow shoulders for dear life. She's just as teeny tiny as Todd, but with about half the structural integrity. He hopes no one opens the door and lets in a draught, because it feels like a stiff breeze could send them toppling like a Jenga tower.

 

"She's stronger than she looks," Farah's voice, laced with fondness, drifts over again. Closely followed by the tinny artificial shutter sound of an iPhone camera.

 

Dirk glances helplessly, disappointedly over his shoulder at Todd, who's sagged onto the bar with the force of his laughter, and sighs.

 

So much for plan B.

 

* * *

 

He should have known that Todd would catch on eventually. Although he’d been rather hoping he might wrangle at least _one_ piggyback out of him, first!

 

Todd, however, is far too clever and in possession of a keen investigative eye. Evidently, Dirk has been fulfilling his role as boss-slash-mentor a little too effectively.

 

"Alright, Dirk," says Todd one day, and immediately Dirk knows that the jig is most definitely up. "What the hell's going on?"

 

"What? Nothing! Nothing's going on- or, well, an awful _lot_ is going on, actually, such is the nature of life and this enormous, chaotic universe, there's bound to be something going on somewhere! Multiple somethings in multiple somewheres, most likely. But in this particular small corner? Very little indeed. But that's Tuesdays for you."

 

"Don't avoid the question," says Todd, in that tone of voice that says he is having absolutely none of Dirk's B.S (Brilliant Speeches) today. "You've been getting 'hurt' way more than normal- which is literally _insane,_ I didn't know you could possibly attract more trouble. And you're so _clingy,_ I just- what's going on with you?"

 

"Nothing!"

 

Todd looks at him in that _way_ he has. That 'I know you're full of shit' way. He's been practicing it for a long time- long enough that it has Dirk mildly squirming after about three and a half seconds.

 

"Well," Dirk attempts, fidgeting under Todd's scrutiny. "Nothing beyond the hazards of the job! I've just been taking a bit of a beating this week, that's all- stream of creation's a tad rocky, a few bumps and scrapes are to be expected."

 

"Well, you don't look super beat-up today. We live like ten minutes away, I don't think you're gonna pass out between here and there."

 

"Oh, I don't know about that, I'm feeling rather shaky- I did lose a lot of blood!"

 

Todd raises his eyebrows, seizes Dirk's hand and holds it up between them. "From a _paper cut?"_

 

...Yes, Dirk probably could have tried a little harder on this particular fib. "It's... very deep?"

 

"Dirk," says Todd, knitting his brows. "You've... you've been acting weird ever since I carried you home that time. What, did you- did you make a bet with Amanda or someone that you could make me do it again?"

 

"What? No!"

 

"Right. 'Cause, y'know, most people just take cabs when they don't wanna walk places."

 

"No, that's not-"

 

"I know you like to cut corners or whatever but I can't do everything for you- come on, you should be able to at least walk by yourself!"

 

"No, Todd, I'm not trying to cut corners, I'm just..." It's difficult to hide the colour rising in his cheeks with Todd still holding his hand prisoner, so he settles for an uncomfortable twitch of his neck, casting his gaze to a very interesting stain on the opposite wall which looks like either a tall dog or a stumpy deer. "I just... enjoyed it. The first time. Not the not walking bit- although I'd be lying if I said that wasn't a definite perk- but just... being close to you. It was..." For all his extensive vocabulary, Dirk can't quite find the words to describe just how 'nice' it had felt, and certainly not in a way that doesn't sound sappy or sugary in a way Todd would despise. "...Nice. I like it. Feeling close to you."

 

He expects laughter, a derisive snort or- worst case scenario- a shout-lecture about deceit and boundaries followed by an angry storm-off. But nothing follows his stilted declaration but silence. Curious, Dirk tentatively tears his gaze from the fascinating stain (which looks like a whippet, he decides) to look at Todd, hoping his face might offer some more clues.

 

His wide-eyed, bright-pink face. "... Oh."

 

That's... different.

 

Dirk peers at him a moment, searchingly. Todd stares right back, and there's something in the air between them. A certain something that Dirk can't quite identify- though he'd be tempted to describe it as a _frisson._ It's crackling in the space between them- actually, crackling might be too strong, it's more sort of tingling. Fizzing in a quiet but noticeable fashion like the head on a freshly poured glass of lemonade. It's strange and warm and seems to draw Dirk in like quicksand, and Todd seems to be having a similar realisation because his face looks a lot closer than it did before.

 

But then Todd looks at his hand, still holding Dirk's aloft by the wrist, and hurriedly drops it. He breaks eyes contact and with it, the strange moment that had taken hold.

 

Dirk misses it before it's even gone.

 

* * *

 

Unsurprisingly, Dirk doesn’t get an awful lot more work done after that. Not that he was getting an awful lot of work done _before_ that, but his productivity goes from unfortunate to downright abysmal in the wake of The Incident.

 

Todd, however, does not appear to similarly suffer. In fact, for the rest of the day he keeps his head down and his oddly intense gaze riveted on the computer screen like his life depends on it. Dirk supposes it does, in a way, in that his pay check depends on it and by extension his rent, his food and various other things that make living an awful lot easier. But that’s never motivated Todd to approach the more menial research-based agency tasks with anything more than cheerful disdain before. Certainly never inspired him to take such a keen interest in his work that it becomes nigh on impossible for Dirk to catch his eye. Not that Dirk’s _trying_ to catch his eye, nor has he been for the last three hours seventeen minutes and forty-two seconds. But whether he’s trying to or not (which he _isn’t),_ he normally would have managed it by now. The fact that he hasn’t managed it, even unintentionally, is _irksome_ to say the least. Dirk isn’t sure _why_ it’s irksome, and he’s attempting to _not_ be irked, but it is, and he can’t.

 

Bugger.

 

“Night, guys.”

 

“Night, Farah,” says Todd, nodding in acknowledgement at her as she passes by his desk en route to the door. Dirk pops his little inner bubble of irk long enough to smile pleasantly and wave at her- it’s not _her_ fault Todd’s being difficult. And probably not her problem, since Todd being difficult takes the form of Todd being a conscientious worker. Dirk imagines he may be alone in his annoyance if he were to go to her for sympathy.

 

She gives them both one last wave as she triple-checks that her gun’s where it needs to be, and then slips out into the night. The days are definitely closing in now, the last falling leaves of autumn mashed into a slushy pulp on the pavements, crushed beneath pedestrian feet much like the last feeble fingers of evening sun are crushed beneath the weight of long winter nights. He hates this bit- too late for the satisfying _crack_ of freshly fallen leaves underfoot, too early for the crunch of snow or the pretty twinkling and fun slip-and-slide of ice. Exactly the sort of weather he’d rather not be walking home in. Exactly the sort of weather he wouldn’t _have_ to walk home in if he’d only managed to pull off his little ruse earlier. Oh, well. Dirk sighs, sweeps the pile of chocolate wrappers that constitute his day’s work into the wastepaper basket, and gets ready for a cold and lonely trek.

 

“How’re you feeling?”

 

Dirk actually jumps a little- he hadn’t realised he’d grown so unaccustomed to Todd’s voice in the unusually long absence of it. “Sorry?”

 

“I mean, how’s your-“ Todd nods towards Dirk’s hand, still poised on the edge of the desk from his table sweep- “paper cut?”

 

“Oh,” says Dirk, cheeks warming. Yes, certainly _not_ his finest little white lie to date. He can probably expect to be hearing about that for quite some time. “All better.”

 

“Good.”

 

Todd… does not appear to be laughing. Or even smirking. In fact, he has his face downturned as he fusses getting his jacket settled on his shoulders, straightening out the front with a restless twitch of his hands. It’s odd- he doesn’t tend to put on his outerwear with so many _flourishes_. Generally, he leaves that sort of thing up to Dirk. Curious, Dirk tilts his head and observes Todd as he finally raises his gaze from the floorboards.

 

“Still, uh…” Todd shrugs slightly, shoving his hands in his pockets. “It was pretty bad, right?”

 

“Um. Yes, I suppose.”

 

“I mean, y’know, it was deep.”

 

What on earth is he... wait. He couldn't be-? No, no he probably isn't.

 

Dirk decides to play along anyway. Just in case. "Oh. Yes, incredibly."

 

"Probably lost a lot of blood," says Todd, and there's a twinkle in his eye lighting him up like a lantern. "I mean, more than you'd think."

 

Dirk meets his eyes, and feels his own lighting up to match. But he keeps the goofy grin of his face and strives to look suitably pitiful. He's not sure what the rules of this game are but he knows that he wants to play it through to the end. _"Gallons."_

 

"So," says Todd, nodding his head towards the door. "You, uh. Need a hand getting home?"

 

Dirk jumps to from his seat faster than any person with alleged severe blood loss ought to do. "I thought you'd never ask."

 

* * *

 

It's a good thing Dirk's too relaxed and content to do much talking on the way home. If he talks, he might do something unhelpful like point out that Todd appears to be taking the longer, 'scenic' route to the Ridgeley, thus setting himself up for eight and a half extra minutes of walking. But Todd, surely, must already know this, so pointing it out would likely just cause embarrassment. Which could in turn lead to him putting Dirk down to continue the rest of the journey on foot. And that’s a risk Dirk refuses to take. A brief moment of smug satisfaction over forcing Todd to admit he enjoys this more than he lets on isn’t worth the loss of a potential eight and half further minutes of cuddling.

 

Because it _is_ a cuddle, practically. A one-sided one, perhaps, given that Todd’s facing the wrong way and his arms are a bit busy keeping Dirk aloft to return the gesture. But those arms feel strong and warm under Dirk’s hips, Todd’s entire body a deliciously inviting hub of heat and solidity into which Dirk could happily sink forever. It’s not a hug exactly. Or at least, it’s not like one of _their_ hugs- which generally end much sooner than Dirk would like on account of Todd pulling back just when Dirk's getting into it. But perhaps this is better than a hug. It’s certainly lasting an awful lot longer. Maybe this is what Todd needs. To feel like he’s doing something helpful, something practical. To not have to look Dirk in the eye.

 

It’s not ideal, but it’s a step in the right direction.

 

“So,” Todd says after a while, and Dirk can hear the smile in his voice. “How many more times were you gonna fake injury for this?”

 

 _“Fake-?!_ Todd, I am _wounded,”_ Dirk gasps. He’d plant a hand on his heart for effect if his hands weren’t so comfortably settled on Todd’s shoulders. “I haven’t faked anything!”

 

The street, silent save for the whistle of the chill night wind, echoes somehow with the inaudible but unmistakable sound of Todd’s disbelief.

 

“…Well. I haven’t _entirely_ faked anything,” Dirk concedes with a slight tilt of his head. “But I may have… _embellished_ a thing or two.”

 

“Oh, really? So, the time with the Rowdies?”

 

“Stubbed my toe.”

 

“Right. And with Bart?”

 

“Bit of a headache.”

 

“Wow. Were you even drunk the other night?”

 

“I was… _tipsy._ ”

 

“So basically,” says Todd, and to Dirk’s relief he sounds just a tiny bit more amused than annoyed. “You could’ve walked home by yourself just fine every time?”

 

“Well… _yes,_ in theory. But, you know, just because I _could_ doesn’t mean I _should._ I mean, how can one be _truly_ certain in one’s ability to get home safely? I could’ve fallen and broken my neck, and then where would the agency be? That would be awfully irresponsible! And if I hadn’t _said_ I’d broken my foot, who’s to say I wouldn’t have _actually_ broken it walking home by myself? Really, Todd, appealing to your better nature and sturdy physique seems a perfectly sensible precaution! Obviously I thought you might have qualms with that assessment, so a little subterfuge was in order. But I didn’t _lie,_ lie. Just took a few incidental inconveniences and-”

 

“Milked them for all they’re worth?”

 

“Yes.”

 

He doesn’t need to see Todd’s face to know he’s rolling his eyes. “You’re such a lazy asshole.”

 

Dirk can’t even be bothered to dispute it. He’s so _comfortable,_ and he’s been cuddling Todd for ten minutes now with no signs of stopping and really, it’s impossible to think of this situation as anything other than a total unmitigated success.

 

“Y’know, if I’m gonna be your donkey as well as your partner I think I should get a raise.”

 

“I’ll return the favour one day,” Dirk smiles, nuzzling a little further into Todd’s fluffy hair. He’s too happy to even correct Todd on the ‘partner’ thing- he’s been toying with the idea of a promotion for a while, anyway. “Promise.”

 

Todd scoffs in a way that says he doesn’t believe that for a second.

 

But he also doesn’t put Dirk down. So he can’t be _that_ annoyed.

 

* * *

 

Dirk continues to play his little game even after Todd’s caught on. It’s sort of a force of habit by now- playing up his minor injuries in as dramatic a manner as possible becomes practically second nature. And what he lacks in acting ability he _more_ than makes up for in commitment to the bit.

 

But to his surprise, conning piggybacks out of his standoffish assistant becomes drastically easier once said assistant is _aware_ that’s what he’s trying to do. All he has to do is bat his eyelids just right, and four times out of ten Todd takes the bait hook, line and sinker. Almost as if he’s just as eager for closeness as Dirk is and enjoys the plausible deniability an act of faux-chivalry affords him.

 

Well. Whatever keeps him sane.

 

But Dirk should’ve known, after three and a half successfully wrangled piggybacks (the fourth had been cut short by the Wasp Debacle of which they are never speaking again), that the time would come for him to make good on his promise to return the favour.

 

“Dirk, it’s okay,” Todd tries to assure him, attempting to support himself against a lamppost with a smile that comes out as a grimace. “We’ll just get a cab, it’s fine, it’s only a spra-“

 

“Todd,” says Dirk, reaching out to steady Todd as he wobbles precariously. “The Ridgeley’s ten minutes away, I think I can carry you that far.”

 

“No, Dirk, seriously it’s-“

 

 _“Todd,”_ says Dirk again, firmer this time. “Come on, it’s the least I can do. Besides, I _highly_ doubt you’ll be difficult to carry, I mean, you’re _miniscule.”_

 

“C’mon, man, I’m five six.”

 

“See? Practically a Borrower. I’m sure you’re light as a feather!”

 

“This seems like an unnecessarily rude way to offer to help someone.”

 

“Take it or leave it.”

 

Todd rolls his eyes. Honestly, with the way his exhausted body is swaying on the spot, Dirk’s surprised he doesn’t capsize himself with the motion. “Jesus. Okay, _fine,_ whatever.”

 

Dirk beams, turns round and crouches like Todd always does, practically vibrating with excitement. At the prospect of helping out a friend, obviously. Not at the prospect of having Todd’s arms wrapped around _his_ neck for a change. That would be a very opportunistic way to look at this unfortunate situation, wouldn’t it? He’s above that sort of thing. Definitely. “Well, then- hop on! Dirk Gently’s Holistic Human Taxi Service, at your disposal!”

 

“I’m gonna regret this, aren’t I?” Todd mumbles, already draping his arms over Dirk’s shoulders.

 

“ _Relax,_ Todd,” says Dirk, grateful that their position doesn’t afford Todd a view of Dirk’s blushing face as he places his hands under the smaller man's thighs. “What could possibly go wrong?”

 

“Oh, god, _please_ don’t say that.”

 

* * *

 

‘What could go wrong’, as it turned out, was just about everything.

 

In the short ten minute walk to their apartment building Dirk, a little frazzled by their adventure himself, managed to bump Todd into one lamppost, bump _himself_ into another, nearly drop Todd into a rose bush and a fountain (that he didn’t remember in the slightest- he wondered if the local council finally got round to spending some taxpayer money on a few nice neighbourhood fixtures for the express purpose of giving Dirk more wet and spiky things to throw his assistant into), and almost fall down an open manhole.

 

His luck doesn’t get any better when they’re in the building, either. After bumping Todd’s head on a door frame and his own shoulder against a wall, he’s finally starting to admit to himself that maybe this wasn’t the best idea. It’s not even that Todd’s difficult to carry- he really isn’t that heavy, and Dirk’s stronger than he looks. But they’re both tired and wobbly and Dirk isn’t particularly coordinated at the best of times and it’s all just… an absolute bloody mess.

 

And it ends, as uncoordinated messes usually do, with both of them collapsed side by side on Todd’s apartment floor after Dirk stumbles and gracelessly deposits them there.

 

“Ow,” he grumbles as his elbow smacks into the skirting board.

 

 _“You_ ow?!” Todd snaps, wriggling about uselessly where he lies trapped beneath Dirk’s weight. “No, _me_ ow, get off!”

 

“Sorry, Todd,” says Dirk sheepishly, rolling heavily off and to the side to give Todd some breathing room. Honestly, he doesn’t know _how_ he managed to get them in that position. He must have spun on his heels _as_ he was falling. That would be impressive if it wasn’t so embarrassing and uncomfortable. He’s too embarrassed to even point out that Todd essentially just yelled ‘meow’ at him. “Evidently I… _overestimated_ my human taxi capabilities.”

 

“You think?” says Todd ruefully, rubbing his forehead where it looks like a bump may be forming. Woops.

 

“Sorry,” says Dirk again, fiddling with his tie.

 

Todd sighs, rolling onto his side to face Dirk. “No, it’s- it’s okay.”

 

Dirk turns his head to look at him, eyes wide. “Really?”

 

“Yeah, you…” Todd shrugs- which doesn’t look like a very comfortable motion pressed against the floor, so he must be committed to it. “You were only trying to help.”

 

“Yes,” Dirk agrees quietly, with a wry smile. “And that _always_ turns out well for me.”

 

“Yeah,” says Todd, inching a little closer. “You really ought to know better by now.”

 

“Absolutely.”

 

Todd reaches out, cupping Dirk’s cheek lightly in his palm. Dirk’s breath falters as Todd meets his eyes, carefully scrutinising him like he’s searching for something. Or maybe just thinking about something. Like he’s coming to some sort of decision and he has no idea if it’s going to come back to bite him in the arse.

 

“Is it,” he says softly, thumb tracing circles on Dirk’s cheek. “Is it bad that I hope you never learn your lesson?”

 

Dirk gulps. He reaches up and places his hand carefully atop Todd’s.

 

“Is it bad,” he counters. “That I don’t think I ever will?”

 

If he thought Todd’s body wrapped around him was warm, it has _nothing_ on the smile that answer earns him. “No,” says Todd, some of that warmth bleeding into his voice and flowing into the air like sunlight through Venetian blinds. “I kinda like that about you.”

 

He leans up, his hand draws Dirk down, and Dirk feels that warmth first-hand on his skin as their lips meet somewhere in the middle.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Woooooooo! I finished something!!! I'm back, baby!!
> 
> Anyway, I've got several fics in the works right now, although there's a good chance you won't be seeing any more of me til Kurlish Week- but you never know! Thanks so much for reading, I sure hope I put a smile on your face <3


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